The Peace of our Nation SYOT
by Glassgift
Summary: The Rebellion is gone, the system has sustained itself, and a new President takes the mantle of Panem. The first thing on his list is to reinstate "tradition". It's the last on any District list. SYOT, this time the games are back, and they are unforgettable. 24 needed.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first SYOT, and I'm excited to begin and to see your tributes! The submission form is on my profile, and I'll need 24 tributes, 2 from each district. PM your tributes to me, and also feel free to leave a review for the first couple of chapters, as these will outline the basis of the story, and give you clues to what Panem has become since the rebellion's failure.**

President Augustus leaned back in his new white leather chair, breathing a long sigh of satisfaction. Finally. Finally he was here. He turned his chair around- a crest of Panem surged on the wall behind him, imposed immovably into the marble surface. Perhaps our nation has a different leader, Augustus thought, but she remains as strong as ever.

True, things had gotten frighteningly out of hand this year. Snow had watched power slip from his grasp, and political tensions in the Capitol had been fierce, but now all Augustus felt was calm; the people felt a languid peace. Sure, he wasn't as established as Snow had been, or as liberal as Coin, but Augustus knew he had charisma, and most importantly, he understood the power of appearances. He understood how to let the people know he was humble, and genuine, and he played the game very well indeed. After all, he had learnt from the best. He had seen how Everdeen moved the hearts of the districts, inspired them to revolt. It was a shame she could not see him now really. A shame that her eyes were sealed shut by the permanace of death, forever staring blankly up at the sky in a mass graveyard of rebels. Augustus considered for a moment broadcasting the screams of Everdeen's comrades to the people. Screaming as they suffered interrogation, suffered life inside a prison cell. Isolation. How exclusive, he thought to himself, how very entertaining.

Entertainment. That was another thing he understood well. He understood the people's need for entertainment, for distraction from their tiny lives. Their need to fear for loved ones, to worry over outcomes, to cheer for a victor, and to weep for the lost. Ultimately, they needed to feel. Augustus liked to consider himself a benefactor- a people's president. They rebelled because they became bored, and he would not have that again. This year the people would be his. They would be shocked, startled, confused by his announcement, but understood, pitied, and cared for by the tender heart of their new President. He would give the people exactly what they desired- a fantastic distraction.

Augustus caught a glimpse of his face in the corner of a large gilt mirror. Hard eyes met hard eyes. No, he thought to himself, this will not be a year they forget.

**When submitting your tributes try to make them original and interesting. Consider things like their District, what jobs are available to them? How is life in this District? No perfect "Mary Sue" type characters, flaws make them much more intriguing and multi layered :) Thanks and don't forget to submit a tribute!**


	2. Tradition Reigns

**Here is the second chapter. Hopefully this hints towards things that may be in store as we progress... **

The dark haired girl moved silently among the packed crowds of District 7 civilians, the air hot and tepid against her skin. It was almost unbearable, the cloistering warmth and closeness of sweating bodies, but she did not hesitate, she did not flinch as she pushed through the closely packed town square. Her eyes searched calmly for the broadcasting screen looming above the chattering crowd. It was almost time. Peacekeepers stood rigidly to attention, lined up like dangerous ornaments on the stage, their stainless white armour concealing any sign of humanity. The girl's eyes lingered on the heavy guns by their side, alien weapons to the people of District 7, but not to her. She pushed back her unevenly chopped hair from her face, as the harsh sun beat down on her forehead, sweat beading on her tanned skin.

Silence hushed across the crowd as the ominous sound of a tannoy fuzzed and crackled like paper. The atmosphere in the square was tense, tangible. An image flickered onto the gigantic screen ahead- a man in his thirties sat righteously at a Capitol balcony, his brown hair quiffed to perfection, and his spotless grey suit ironed immaculately. The girl considered his face, lips stiffly pressed together, sensitive eyebrows framing dark and deep-set eyes. His gaze seemed to look within her, baring her secrets and turning her inside out. She had never met him, but she knew exactly who he was.

Music surged as the man on the screen stood to his feet. The sounds of trumpets and multiple other resounding orchestral delights blared intrusively from the speakers on the stage. The sound died, and there was silence, as the residents of District 7, and undoubtedly every other district strained to hear the man speak. He paused, unhurried, and adjusted his wrist cuffs patiently. Then he began.

"My dearest, dearest people." His voice dripped with sincerity, as he glanced upwards to the cameras, eyebrows raised in welcome.

"I address you today, as a Patron of our beloved Nation, as the Protector of Panem" he half smiles, his mouth twisting into an almost smirk. The girl waited, her face a mask of apathy.

"Recent... events... have rocked our country- as many of you will be aware, rebellion has run rife among our homes, our towns and districts."

A murmur washed through the crowd, as he paused, considering his words.

"These so called 'Revolutionaries' have sacked our resources, destroyed our lively hoods, and torn apart our strongholds." He emphasises his words, his eyes watering as he speaks.

"No one has felt your plight more than I- I who suffer alongside you, weep for the sick and starving, mourn our lost brothers and sisters. I am appalled by the chaos that those, those criminals have wreaked in our Nation!"

The murmurs grow louder. He dabs a handkerchief to his face, subtly enough to not be pantomime, but discreetly obvious to anyone watching. _Boy, he was good_, the girl thought to herself.

"I address you now to tell you of our victory- these rebels have been squashed, and the war, our war has been won!" He smiles, and a mechanical cheer booms from the Capitol crowd and metal speakers, overshadowing the absence of celebration from the square. People around her look towards the screen impassively, too hardened by grief to feel, too exhausted by hope to believe.

The man's face drops. It sets suddenly into a tight mouthed, anxious expression of concern, his dark eyes glinting curiously under a brow furrowed with worry.

"However, it is my duty to inform you that these people have left a last mark of injustice on us. It is these people who are to thank for what I'm about to tell you. As they sit in their jail cells, as they rot in their graves, they impact our lives even now."

The girl tilted her head to one side, her head buzzing with curiosity now. _What was he_ _saying?_

The glint in his black eyes shone brightly, almost pleasurably at his next words.

"It is because of these criminals and traitors that we regrettably reinstate tradition. We must regain the control and safety of our Districts, and it is with a deep sadness that I announce the return of the Annual Hunger Games."

A guttural scream bursts out from the crowd. Mothers shriek, children cry, survivors stand in shock. The girl quakes in her boots, a familiar fury rising up inside her, an old friend. President Augustus' honeyed words fade into oblivion as she stands immovably on the cobbles. Looking down to her left, dizzy with disbelief, a small and wide eyed child looks back up at her, barely more than 9 years old, fear and confusion in his eyes mirror the girl's own. As he takes in her appearance, his eyes widen further, and she watches in slow motion as he screams, terrified. The girl instinctively whips a hand to her face, and touches the rough surface there- the hideous scar that is slashed across her left cheek, stretching it's crooked white line to her forehead. She forgets the small boy, whisked away by his mother, as she drops the hand from her conveniently disfigured visage and turns back towards the man on the screen. Her gray eyes harden, and so does her resolve. She is no one anymore, and that is exactly what she needs.

**So I will post the first tribute list update soon, but I wanted to leave it open initially for a little while longer. A huge thanks to the people who are supporting this story, whether that is by submitting a tribute, or following/favouriting and reviewing, it means so much, really. You can submit a tribute via PM, the form is on my profile, but don't forget to leave a review telling me what you think about the chapters so far and things you would like to see as the story develops! Thanks so much!**


	3. Black and White

**Chapter Three. Thankyou so much to everyone who has already reviewed, favourited, or followed this story, as well as those who have submitted tributes, it's fantastic to have so much support! Feel free to drop a review, and there is still time to submit more tributes! You can actually submit up to two. I'm leaving the list so far at the end of this chapter.**

"Heavensbee."

He jumps out of his daydream as a pile of papers slam loudly on the glass desk in front of him. Looking to the dark skinned woman leaning over him, he doesn't miss a beat.

"Ahh, Lucia, I see you received my notes on the plan for this year's games?" He raises an eyebrow casually, leaning back in his oversized chair.

She adopts a confused expression, something mixed with annoyance. "I don't understand, some of these designs, they are… well… extravagant,_unnecessary_?"

The corners of Plutarch's mouth twist upwards in an almost patronizing smile.

"Unnecessary? My dear... this is the revival of our most celebrated tradition, _nothing_, I assure you _nothing_, is unnecessary. In fact, all expenses will be spared to ensure that this year's games are more excessive, more colossal than any previous." Every word is calculated, every phrase balanced perfectly.

"But the layout of the arena, the sheer force of hardship-"

"Yes?" he is calm, unconcerned.

Lucia knots her eyebrows in confusion and objection. "How will any of them survive something like this?" Her voice is riddled with emotion, with actual _care. _Plutarch scoffed inwardly. He was by no means heartless, but he knew when to switch off. He knew how to paint a bigger picture without pondering over minor details like individual lives and suffering. A few pawns must die in order to move the Queen, and he was a man of logic.

He lets out a convincing sigh, and glances up at the woman.

"Lucia, I know exactly what I'm doing. If I didn't, would they have reinstated me after the uprising? I designed the arena which incited a rebellion, I failed- but am I lying dead in the ground somewhere? Am I imprisoned like so many of the rebels? Am I even demoted? No, I am _here_, because the President _knows_ I am capable. I will give Panem a year to remember, of that you can be sure." He spoke with joviality, yet his voice was threaded with an almost threatening and sombre tone.

Lucia looks to her bleach white shoes, the shoes of an Assistant Gamemaker.

"Yes, Plutarch." Her voice is laced with respect, and he knows that she has been chided into place. Plutarch lets his smirk ease, his expression relaying his satisfaction with her response.

"Very well. If that is all."

Lucia nods curtly, turning and walking through the glass doors, which soundlessly slide open to her leave, closing behind her with barely a tap.

Plutarch is left alone at his desk, his face hard and determined, his eyes set with conviction. If one observed him closely, they would see how his face had become taughter, the skin under his eyes puffier and darker. Nobody knew the truth about what had happened to him during the Rebellion, and if they did, they were locked up far away, in the makeshift prison that was once District 13. That, or dead. Plutarch's eyes drift to the crest of Panem that is imperially positioned on the wall ahead of him, and he smiles ever so slightly. He was so close to finishing his masterpiece, his chessboard for which the figures he set in place would make their last game.

_It will be interesting_, he ponders, _to see how they play_.

After all, only he knows what's black and what's white.

**So, here is the list of tributes so far...**

**D1 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D1 Female: Lexa Emmeline Merkell (18) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**

**D2 Male: Aiden Faust (18) Submitted by grab. . **

**D2 Female: Jade Rainer (17) Submitted by ashleyashley**

**D3 Male:**

**D3 Female:**

**D4 Male:**

**D4 Female: Amoret Rossdale (17) Submitted by carriedaway88**

**D5 Male:**

**D5 Female:**

**D6 Male:**

**D6 Female: Merinda Lux (17) Submitted by Heslen**

**D7 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D7 Female: Katy Jo Cheming (17) Submitted by Nona**

**D8 Male:**

**D8 Female:**

**D9 Male: Maximus "Max" Wood (18) Submitted by ZTEBladeCM11**

**D9 Female:**

**D10 Male:**

**D10 Female:**

**D11 Male:**

**D11 Female:**

**D12 Male:**

**D12 Female:**

**If you guys want to make another tribute, there are always bloodbaths that I need, as well as some younger tributes. Thanks, and don't forget to review the story so far!**


	4. And The Hand Ticks On

**Here's a new chapter! Each chapter so far will give you inklings of what is to come in this story... Reviews are truly priceless, any criticism or feedback is actually so helpful to me, let me know what you would like to see in these games! Also there is a tribute list update at the bottom, thanks to everyone who submitted and as always to those who reviewed/favourited/followed this story so far. You are all excellent. Without any further ado...**

The Capitol is rarely dark. Yes, each evening Night would throw it's dusky cloak over the city, holed with icy stars, yet the sprawling balance of metal-glass buildings fought hard against this tide of nature. Each night as the sun turns it's brilliant face against the sky, Light is reborn in Panem. It grows slowly, humming it's steady orange glow from lamplight and street corners, and waxes slightly, glittering lanterns ebbing their diamond luminescence into the dim alleyways of every turning, every junction. By the time the moon arcs high over the atmosphere, she is shamed by the iridescent glory that the city boasts. Facets of broken rainbows beam from every room, buildings transformed into a palette of coloured squares. Clematis watches the splendour as it unfolds in the reflection of her shop window. It seems to her as if the light of her city beams onwards forever into the night, immortal, unstoppable. Infinity is easy ground for this place. Shivering slightly, the glass cool and hard against her fingertips, she wonders how the Districts even see at night with their naked skies. She wonders what it must be like to feel the cold glow of a full moon, to be chased into the night by strange and elusive shadows, counting myriads of stars on unaccommodating fingers. To lose oneself, in silver half lit hideaways, never claimed by lamplight.

A faint tinkling noise drags her from these ponderings. Turning her head towards the smooth glass door, she watches in childlike awe as it pushes gently against a metal bell, and finds herself lost and naive. The sound was actually rather beautiful.

"Ma'am?"

Reality dropped slowly, like thick cream tipping into coffee. It pooled in her head, and all her lovely thoughts were pushed unelegantly to the back of her mind, left to grow stagnant and old without her. Imagination was smothered by the urgency of the present, and the moment slipped from her, tumbling unrealized into the past.

Walking towards her, the man skirts the crystal cabinets with familiarity, his well soled boots make no noise as they press measuredly against the hardwood floor. Curiosity colours his heavy brow, his eyes fixed with determination, as they look to Clematis for an answer.

She smiles gracefully, shaking her head slightly. She knows this gesture will make her long glittering blonde curls bounce attractively, and the man's returning twitch of the lips affirms this.

"My apologies Sir, we were about to close for the evening."

He smiles overconfidently this time, shrugging off his expensive fur coat to reveal an even more costly suit jacket underneath.

"I won't be long."

He moves towards the counter, placing a pile of coins almost carelessly on the glass counter with a clatter. Clematis stands with uncertainty, taking in the scene before her of what must be a very blatant bribe. She considers in her head the skirt that she saw walking to work this morning. She thinks of the shoes she has which will almost certainly match, and places a well manicured hand patiently on what must be at least three weeks salary.

Her pretty face lights up, and she throws what she knows to be a very charming smile to the red haired man. He nods in silent agreement, his eyes conveying some kind of petty amusement at the ease of money.

Exhaling deeply, he places a hand on the counter, leaning slowly towards the shop assistant. Clematis smiles professionally, but can't help but feel slightly intimidated by somebody with such obvious and substantial wealth. The man's face hardens like frost.

"I'm here in the recommendation of Plutarch Heavensbee. I believe he has a gift for me?"

Clematis glows with inner joy, _Plutarch Heavensbee_? In her head she spins gleefully in a brand new dress, dancing in a circle of gold to the tune of her admirers singing their praise.

"Let me just check in the back!"

"Of course."

She has to stop herself running, her heels clicking against the floor cleanly as she walks to the back room. _Heavensbee, Heavensbee... _It had to be around here somewhere. _Here_!

Grabbing the velvet box, she skips gleefully back to her waiting customer. Everything seems a little brighter, as she opens the box for him to see. Looking down at the watch encased in inky black suede, she can't help but sigh a little. It was so... plain. Reigning in her disappointment, she lacquers herself with the girlish merriment that a store assistant of her calibre is required to provide.

"Is it to your liking Sir?"

He looks measuredly to the timepiece, the glistening gold bracelet reflected in his pondering eyes. He opens his mouth, considering his reply.

"It's... Perfect."

_He probably won't even wear it_, Clematis thinks spitefully as he walks from the store. She stands in the pool of sparkling lamplight, and suddenly realizes how deflated she feels, like a pretty balloon that is weeping helium from a tiny hole. She shrugs slightly, brushing these thoughts from her shoulders, dusting herself free of melancholy. She wasn't surprised at his disappointment really. Gold wristwear was on it's way out, and the artistic design was practically ancient. Birds were _so_ outdated.

**There we go, I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to submit another tribute and you have already done one, there is plenty of space left! You can submit two. I already have a bounty of morally sound characters so don't be afraid to mix it up a little with the crazy and the weird! Also I have a lot of 17/18 year old tributes, so for diversity's sake I would love some younger ones too. Thanks for your time!**

**D1 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D1 Female: Lexa Emmeline Merkell (18) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**

**D2 Male: Aiden Faust (18) Submitted by grab. . **

**D2 Female: Jade Rainer (17) Submitted by ashleyashley**

**D3 Male: Dutch Morgan (13) Submitted by Heslen**

**D3 Female: Alice Day (13) Submitted by Rayofsunshine14**

**D4 Male:**

**D4 Female: Amoret Rossdale (17) Submitted by carriedaway88**

**D5 Male:**

**D5 Female:**

**D6 Male:**

**D6 Female: Merinda Lux (17) Submitted by Heslen**

**D7 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D7 Female: Katy Jo Cheming (17) Submitted by Nona**

**D8 Male:**

**D8 Female:**

**D9 Male: Maximus "Max" Wood (18) Submitted by ZTEBladeCM11**

**D9 Female:**

**D10 Male: Reserved for Wandering Princess**

**D10 Female: Clarissa Brown (17) Submitted by Wandering princess**

**D11 Male:**

**D11 Female: Adria Braud (15) Submitted by TheDancerSG**

**D12 Male:**

**D12 Female:**


	5. Cockroaches

**Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, and the people who have submitted tributes, I am overwhelmed by how creative and dedicated some of you have been! This chapter should provide some insight into the events of the rebellion as they happen in this story, and I hope you enjoy! There are still a couple of tribute spaces left, and I will be posting the list so far at the bottom. Thanks again!**

"Hurry up kid."

Josiah looks to the older boy walking ahead of him, and after wiping the sweat from his brow, he clumsily stumbles after him, too big boots clumping along the broken cobbles. His hand at his side is covered in dirt- he can't remember the last time he cleaned, the last time he changed his tattered clothes. Picking his way cautiously across the rubble, he glances about what looks like the shell of a town square. He'd seen pictures of them before- all the Districts had them, even District 12, before the Rebellion. The Justice Building lay crumbled, once solid stone, it now bore the marks of war. Great cleaves of rock had been blasted out of the structure, leaving gaping holes, windows shattered like hollow eyes. They stare at him, mournful, full of grief and suffering. Shivering, Josiah continues along the grey landscape, the town which is scattered into a thousand pieces.

The boy in front of him stops, having reached a pinnacle of wreckage- the ruins of a now forgotten structure. His black leather longcoat flaps in the wind as he turns, looking down to the 8 year old trailing behind. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he shields his eyes from the sun with a hand to his brow.

"Cmon, it's just over this hill!" He shouts down to Josiah, his voice straining through the relentless and scorching squall. A storm was brewing, they had to be quick.

In some ways, Josiah didn't really miss District 13. Before the Rebellion, he was holed up in the ground, listening to fairy tales and legends of the "Outside World"- how people lived above the surface, how they had wooden houses and bathed in rivers and streams. It was all a big dream, an afterthought as he wiled away the days making bread in the caverns with his mother and sisters, secretly longing for some connection to the wider world- a way out of his earthen confines.

Then the rebels had arrived- people with sunburnt faces, people with scars and tattoos, people who he had only heard about in stories. They had walked straight out of his wildest dreams, and changed everything. They had seemed immortal to him, indestructible, until the day of the raid. Rebels and District 13 citizens alike had cowered in the bunkers. They had both wept with fear, as the bombs shattered overhead. Josiah shudders, the memories grating against his mind. After that, had come the liberation. The long pilgrimage to District 12. And here he was, his family clustered in a dusty tent where the Seam used to be. He was a refugee of war, and refugees had to do anything to survive.

He reaches the top of the "hill", his breath short and feet aching with sores and heat. It is a familiar pain by now. He looks upwards to the tall boy waiting for him, tanned and lean, freckled by years of sunlight on his face, dark curly hair nesting over his firm grey eyes. He was everything Josiah wanted to be- a remnant of Panem, marked by the weather and hardship. Tough.

"You alright there kid?" the boy chuckles, raising an eyebrow. Josiah feels somewhat embarrassed by his breathlessness, his cheeks flushing pink.

"I'm fine, Scree." His brow knits with annoyance.

"I knew you would be. You're good like that kid, that's why I picked you." Scree smiles knowingly, an air of wisdom beyond his years etched in his face. Slapping Josiah hard on the back, he turns, facing forward again. Out of his sight, the younger boy rubs his back silently, grimacing from the pain.

"Look, you see it?" He raises a leather clad arm, pointing into the distance.

"I…I.." Narrowing his eyes, Josiah peers into the distance, the heat hazing the air in front of them. He makes out a ring of what look like large houses, boards over the windows. Gasping with surprise, he looks back to Scree with shock.

"That's it?! The Victors Village?"

"Yep." Scree nods, smirking slightly at the kid's naivety. "The one and only."

Josiah stands there wide eyed, mouth agape in awe. He had heard so many tales about the people who lived there, the rebels he had caught mere glimpses of back in District 13.

"Are you coming or what kid?" Josiah scurries to catch up with Scree, already halfway down the hill of stone and metal.

By the time they reach the rusted iron gates to the compound, Josiah has lost his breath again. The sun shivers, a low orange blob sliding down a bloody sky. Scree comes a halt, and pushes a hand against the metal bars. They give with a slow and reluctant shriek, the piercing sound cutting through the thick and cloistering air the two boys breathe.

"Well… what are you waiting for?" Scree looks down and steps over the threshold, but not before Josiah notices the wavering look in his eyes. Gulping down his fears, the child follows suit, slipping between the crooked irons. The air is unnaturally still, and their footsteps echo in the heavy silence. They walk across the compound without exchanging a word, both heads fighting the dark thoughts that creep up on them and extend their vile hands in company. Monsters under the bed lurk in their minds as they come to a stop before the first house.

"Well, this is it then." Scree's voice is low and sombre, and Josiah is scared. He notices graffiti on the finely bricked walls, images and words that mean nothing to him.

"What… What do they mean?" He asks in hesitation, his voice quavering as he points towards the scrawls and pictures ahead.

"The Odds Are Never in Our Favour… its Games stuff, from before the war. The Peacekeepers are probably gonna raze this place to the ground soon, that's why we have to salvage as much as we can, before it's all gone."

Josiah had heard a lot about the games. Scree moves towards the boards over the grand entrance to the house, swinging the hammer he keeps at his belt. Not wanting to be left behind, the younger boy hurries to keep up as he imagines shadows snapping at his heels.

Once inside, Josiah is less afraid and more _curious, _as he walks around the dusty yet once luxurious interior. He has never seen such rich furnishings, and he supposes that someone very wealthy had once lived here. As they walk through the kitchen, he notices bottles and jars on the shelves, dishes in the sink left unwashed. Somebody left here in a hurry.

"Leave the glass containers, it's mostly leaves and stuff. The pans and crockery should fetch a pretty price though." Scree walks slowly, his face flickering around the room. His eyes glitter dimly at the bounty they have just found, and he can't believe so much is still here. They would eat well tonight.

Josiah nods absently, as he moves into the living room. Plush sofas weep stuffing, mirrors cracked and blackened with mould. He brushes dead leaves off a cabinet, looking in puzzlement to a white silk rose resting in a grave of dust. _Who had the money to spare on fake flowers? _Heshakes his head in bemusement, as he progresses through the once grand room. His boot crunches on something hard, and he stoops curiously, reaching beneath his sole.

Scree walks up behind him.

"What you got there kid?" he moves in front of Josiah, and tilts his head in question.

Josiah opens his palm, and looks to the object in confusion.

"It's like a pin… a bird thing-"

He barely has time to answer before it is smacked out of his hand by the older boy. Scree turns to him, eyes wild with anger and shock.

"What on earth do you think you're doing with something like that!? Are you insane?" His voice is strained and Josiah catches a hint of almost fear.

"I… I…" the young boy is scared, and embarrassed, not understanding his mistake.

Scree's face hardens, and his expression turns serious and guarded.

"Grab as much as you can. We need to leave."

"But we haven't even checked the other houses yet!"

The tall boy grabs the much smaller one by his shoulders, looking intimidatingly into his eyes. He speaks through his teeth and blazes with anger.

"I said we are leaving. Now."

As they lug their findings back to the camp in silence, Josiah can't help the questions that swim in his head, which itch at his thoughts. Nevertheless, he keeps his mouth closed. Memories flash; when the Capitol conquered District 13, when the Rebels were lead outside with their hands tied. He remembers the sound of shots being fired.

He knows what happens to those that speak their mind.

**There we go! If you enjoyed this chapter (or if not) please leave a review, they are really appreciated, and help me figure out what you guys like/don't like. Don't forget to follow this story for updates on new chapters! I will start writing the Reapings as soon as the list is complete. Just to clarify, yes there are District 13 citizens living in District 12, but the majority of the population are survivors from the bombs, people who are native to District 12. This means 12 is still competing in the Games, but they are suffering from more hardship than ever before.**

**The Tribute List:**

**D1 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D1 Female: Lexa Emmeline Merkell (18) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**

**D2 Male: Aiden Faust (18) Submitted by grab. . **

**D2 Female: Jade Rainer (17) Submitted by ashleyashley**

**D3 Male: Dutch Morgan (13) Submitted by Heslen**

**D3 Female: Alice Day (13) Submitted by Rayofsunshine14**

**D4 Male:**

**D4 Female: Amoret Rossdale (17) Submitted by carriedaway88**

**D5 Male: Lucas Holmes (12) Submitted by grab. . **

**D5 Female:**

**D6 Male:**

**D6 Female: Merinda Lux (17) Submitted by Heslen**

**D7 Male: Reserved for Infamouskal420**

**D7 Female: Katy Jo Cheming (17) Submitted by Nona**

**D8 Male:**

**D8 Female: Payton Wells (12) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D9 Male: Maximus "Max" Wood (18) Submitted by ZTEBladeCM11**

**D9 Female: Isla Waral (15) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D10 Male: Kyle Horne (16) Submitted by Wandering Princess**

**D10 Female: Clarissa Brown (17) Submitted by Wandering princess**

**D11 Male:**

**D11 Female: Adria Braud (15) Submitted by TheDancerSG**

**D12 Male:**

**D12 Female: Winze Barcroft (16) Submitted by GlimmerIceWood**

**So just a few requests to round it off; **

**If you have reserved a tribute, please send me the filled out forms in the next few days or I will have to open the places to someone else. This is to ensure that I can get on with the Reapings ASAP, and it's only fair on other people who have already submitted! Thanks.**

**I have a lot of Male openings left, so if you haven't already submitted two tributes, see if you've got any ideas for another one!**

**Remember to mix up your tributes a little, the more unique your tribute is the more likely it is I will use them to their full potential! Think crazy, weird, bloodthirsty, melancholy, bubbly, idiotic, smart.**

**As always, thanks for your support!**


	6. Bloodstained Floors

**So here's an update for you lovely people! First off I apologize for the lack of updates, I'm in the middle of a lot of coursework, and I promise that I will do chapters as often as I can for you guys, even if they aren't every other day. Thanks again to people who have ready reviewed, submitted, favourited or followed, the support is amazing, and it never fails to encourage me. Hopefully we can get onto the reapings soon, but for now, enjoy this little snippet...**

The peacekeeper walks his measured, paced stroll across the concrete corridor, numbered doors moving slowly past left and right. He has been trained to always walk this way, the drumming rhythm of a soldier's timing is secondary to only his heartbeat. He looks to his watch; _12.03_. He knows that he walks this corridor everyday at this time, and feels a surge of pride at his punctuality.

No. He is a soldier. Feelings, even pride, have no place in his head. They are too distracting, and his officer doesn't like distractions.

He observes the wire cells apathetically as he moves. Thin figures huddle in corners, bruises smattered over their arms, legs, faces. They are remnants of the Rebellion. His hand twitches instinctually.

Suddenly, he looks to the end of the corridor, a sound startling him. _High_ _Security_, the words stamped into the thick steel door. This one makes him more nervous than most. He moves carefully towards the looming impenetrable barricade, careful to keep his expression impassive. He stops in front of it, and swallowing, slides open the small peephole with a grating screech of metal against metal.

She sits in the corner like the others, a skeleton in regulation white prison uniform. Her head is down, bruised scalp obvious through her hacked off short hair. The only thing that signals life to him is the rapid, shaking movement of her chest moving in and out. He's surprised, _she'll go soon_, he thinks. He's getting good at knowing when they become corpses.

He watches for a few more seconds, and goes to pull back the hatch.

"Wait."

Her voice stops him dead. A chill climbs down his back. _She hasn't_ _spoken in days_. Lifting his head, his gaze reluctantly meets hers. He's looking into those hard brown eyes, set in yellowed skin, hollow, dead. He shivers. She really doesn't have long left.

"What?" He snaps in a tone that would make most prisoners flinch.

Her gaze remains steady- she is unshaken.

"I need more water."

He sighs inwardly. Most prisoners are left to suffer dehydration, but this was a Level 9. She had special privileges, priority to be kept alive. She knew things. _Doesn't mean she's untouchable. _He smirks to himself, his eyes lingering on her swollen lip, crusted with black blood. _It's healing_, he notes, and he itches to mark her again.

She remains unswayed, her eyes boring into the peacekeeper staring at her through the metal window of her cell.

He slams the slider shut suddenly, and she jumps. Her nerves aren't what they used to be. A systematic and familiar pattern of beeping and clicking announces his arrival, and the door swings open soundlessly. He steps heavily into the room, his footsteps ringing out on the corrugated iron.

Shivering at the ominous sound, she remains composed and inches her head towards the empty steel bowl on the floor. Wordlessly, he picks it up, filling it from a white container at his side. This familiar interaction is void of feeling for the both of them.

She looks to the ground , staring at the patterned floor of her home for the last year. The peacekeeper reseals the container, placing the dog bowl down again.

He considers her for a moment, and his eyes zone in on her bare feet. His breath hitches, as he cheers internally. Moving towards the girl, he stands over her, powerful, imposing.

"Tsk tsk... No shoes? That's against regulations..."

Her eyes flicker up to meet his,and he relishes in the panic he sees behind them.

"No, please, they don't fit me anymore, I can't keep them on-"

She stops protesting as he leans down and in one motion grabs her shoulder hard. She feels so brittle to him, so easy to break.

Her breathing is quick, and he revels in the authority racing through him. _Oh this is gonna be good_.

She sees his fist swooping towards her and then everything is white. Pain explodes in her cheek, hot blood wetting her lip. The ringing in her ears seeps away as her vision returns, swimming. She lies against the wall, and gasps, used to the pain, but always caught off guard by the shock. The peacekeeper looks in disgust to his fist, covered in blood. Her blood.

Kneeling down, he smirks, and brushes her bruised lip with his thumb aggressively. Panicked, she scoots her back against the wall and tries to remain calm. She knows what comes next. Her rage quells inside of her, and it's all she can do to stop herself slapping this man away. He moves closer, and she fights the urge to vomit.

"Now now, you know it will just be easier if you-"

He barely has time to finish before he grabs his kneecap, reeling from a sharp kick and grunting in pain. The girl fumes, rising up to stand on her feet. She is small but muscled, and full of fire. She sends a sidekick to his face, and he lurches backwards onto the metal floor, howling in pain.

"Don't you even dare."

Her voice shakes with anger, as stamps down hard on his shin. She's grateful that she still remembers how to break a leg.

Inhaling deeply, she turn away from the convulsing peacekeeper, cracking her knuckles. That, felt good. She smiles for the first time in a long time, her mouth twisting sadistically upwards.

"You BITCH-"

She turns to him swiftly, and sends an elbow into his neck mercilessly. His screams pierce the air, and she kneels down next to him, eyes ablaze, blood dripping from her face.

"Nobody calls Johanna Mason a bitch." She hisses in his ear, a voice laced with poison.

His screams are loud, and she turns back to him briefly, shoving one of her white plimsoll shoes into his mouth to quieten him. _Good, he's annoying_. She thinks flippantly, before moving out of the four walls that have boxed her in for so long. She wonders if the other guards will have noticed the commotion, and smiles sardonically.

She was ready for them.

**So there it is! I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave a review, they are always much appreciated! If you still want to submit tributes here are some tips:**

**1\. There are only males left now, but they can be equally as complex and interesting as girls I assure you!**

**2\. Please try to make them a little on the wacky side. I have already had so many lovely tributes, and a lot of them are morally sound, but the insane tributes are also key to the story here :)**

**3\. I am banning 17 year olds, simply because we have SO MANY OF THEM, anymore would be too boring, we need diversity!**

**The Tribute List:**

**D1 Male: Damari Leventhorne (18) Submitted by Kanra Chrome**

**D1 Female: Lexa Emmeline Merkell (18) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**

**D2 Male: Aiden Faust (18) Submitted by grab. . **

**D2 Female: Jade Rainer (17) Submitted by ashleyashley**

**D3 Male: Dutch Morgan (13) Submitted by Heslen**

**D3 Female: Alice Day (13) Submitted by Rayofsunshine14**

**D4 Male: Kainalu Porbeagle (17) Submitted by A M4D TE4 P4RTY**

**D4 Female: Amoret Rossdale (17) Submitted by carriedaway88**

**D5 Male: Lucas Holmes (12) Submitted by grab. . **

**D5 Female: Sola Finlun (14) Submitted by RAINBOWSNEMESIS**

**D6 Male:**

**D6 Female: Merinda Lux (17) Submitted by Heslen**

**D7 Male:**

**D7 Female: Katy Jo Cheming (17) Submitted by Nona**

**D8 Male:**

**D8 Female: Payton Wells (12) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D9 Male: Maximus "Max" Wood (18) Submitted by ZTEBladeCM11**

**D9 Female: Isla Waral (15) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D10 Male: Kyle Horne (16) Submitted by Wandering Princess**

**D10 Female: Clarissa Brown (17) Submitted by Wandering princess**

**D11 Male:**

**D11 Female: Adria Braud (15) Submitted by TheDancerSG**

**D12 Male: Tucker 'Tuck' Wellington (14) Submitted by Kanra Chrome**

**D12 Female: Winze Barcroft (16) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**


	7. Shattered Glass

**Firstly, thanks so much to those who are continuing to support me, you are an endless encouragement and inspiration. Secondly- enjoy.**

"Ah, Lucas."

Augustus stands on a glass balcony, serenely looking down at the man clad in white approaching towards him on the lower floor. His footsteps are brisk, his manner impeccable as he impassively looks towards his President, and raises a mechanical salute.

"President Augustus, Sir."

His clipped voice is laced with respect, and the undertones of perhaps fear. Augustus smiles, his eyes crinkling with satisfaction, as he thinks about how he rather enjoys these military reports.

The reporting Peacekeeper lowers his hand, his gaze focused ahead in the distance like a glassy eyed doll.

"Well then... Get on with it then soldier."

Augustus sounds lazy as he speaks, his rich voice ringing around the spacious room. Already bored, he plays with the alabaster cuffs of his perfectly tailored shirt.

"Sir... The military base has been operating at expected efficiency. The Districts remain absolute."

The President pauses, noting with curiosity the slight tremor in the man's voice. His dark eyes glimmer with primal suspicion as he pays attention for the first time, and listens very closely.

"And?"

The threat in his question cannot be missed. The young man below gulps in obvious and poorly disguised terror.

"There has been... complications, Sir"

"Complications?"

The word feels strange in Augustus' mouth, and he dislikes it. It is not something he is used to dealing with, and it only serves to irate him further.

"Y-Yes President Sir... A prisoner... Breached the high security system... Level 8..."

He trembles like a minor earthquake, while the man above him is rooted to the spot, knuckles white as they grip the glass railing.

Rage swells behind the President's face, and he barely contains himself. _He should of had them killed, all of them._

"Who?" He practically snarls as he spits out the word.

"M-Mason-"

There is a crash as a vase lands beside the peacekeeper, and he leaps to the side, squeaking in terror.

"I WANT HER DEAD."

Augustus' face is red, and he breathes heavily as he looms over the shivering soldier.

"Y-Yes, President Si-"

Another crash. Glass scatters the floor as he misses his target again.

There is a sudden sound, a knock echoes across the room, cacophonous against the quiet sobs of the soldier.

Closing his eyes, Augustus breathes slowly. _Control, Augustus, control._

"Enter."

The word is imperative, measured and calm. A swoosh sounds as the doors slide open smoothly, making way for a white clad and burly red haired male.

"Ahh, Serephus."

"Sir."

The entrant nods cleanly upwards, then turns to focus on the blitz of china littering the pale marble floor. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity, but comments no further.

"Heavensbee has arrived."

Augustus breaths a sigh of relief. _Heavensbee_. He could always rely on the Gamemaker to be prompt at least.

He enters the room in the wake of the guard, his portly figure almost humorous against the dramatic scene before him. Smirking, he glances to the President in amusement.

"Had a little accident Sir?"

He chortles, as Augustus feigns a tight smile, irritated by the joviality.

"One could say that."

He motions to the guard, who promptly escorts away the whimpering peacekeeper, still shaking with terror. The door slides shut cleanly behind them.

"Do excuse the mess, Heavensbee."

Plutarch grins, humour alight in his eyes as he steps over the fragmented glass and porcelain.

"Of course, of course."

Augustus descends a glass staircase down from the balcony, twisting down to the middle of the room. He steps slowly, almost regally, and takes his time. He doesn't like to be rushed.

Plutarch waits, his hands clasped behind him in a respectful and professional stance. His face however, remains casual and unaffected by his superior's presence.

As Augustus finally descends to his level, he motions towards the Gamemaker flippantly.

"Come, walk."

The two men step across the floor in tandem, keeping time with each other. They reach a finely carved mahogany bookcase- one of many set into the white walls of the palatial yet stark setting, and come to a halt.

Silently, Augustus extends a soft fingered hand to the gilt volumes, bound in leather and gold, and stacked solidly along the heavy weighted shelves. He pulls it free from it's vacuous hold slowly, the fine leather sliding easily against it's neighbouring tomes. He holds it in his pale hands gently, and turns over the spine to face Plutarch.

"A Brief History of Panem."

Shining letters are stamped into the surface. Heavensbee can't help but smile at the title- ironic for a book that could easily be used as a lethal weapon according to it's considerable weight.

"Lovely isn't it? I've always had a fondness for the traditional copies... It's worth twice your yearly wage."

Augustus smiles smugly, and Plutarch resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead indulging the man in his childish brags.

"Very impressive, Sir."

Augustus nods, hearing what only confirms what he already knows. Turning the book over in his palms, a little dust falls to the floor, sprinkling from the archaic pages.

"Hmm, looks like it has Termites. Common problem with these older things... They get... Infected."

His tone is cold, and Plutarch feels a shiver run involuntarily down his back.

"You know, Some people believe sprinkling turmeric on the shelves will ward them off, keep them away." The President barks out a humourless laugh. Plutarch twists his mouth upwards reluctantly, playing to the whims of the most powerful man in Panem.

"But that's not the way to do it, no." Augustus slides the book back in it's place, turning away momentarily.

"You have to put it in a box, plug it with ethanol. That's the only way."

He turns slowly to face the other man, his eyes wild with something dark and sinister, his mouth arched in a crooked smile. Plutarch feels physically sick as he observes what could only be described as an influential sadist.

"You have to suffocate them."

Heavensbee swallows, and stiffens his lips slightly, recomposing his horror into a defensive expression.

"And what if they have already laid their eggs?"

Augustus relaxes, and humour plays at his lips.

"There's no end to the capability to purge, my dear man.'

His grin widens, as Plutarch remains unbroken, his expression impassive, even as he watches the younger man turn and walk across the floor, his steps crunching as they crush glass into the stone, dust under his feet.

"What of the young peacekeeper I saw?"

He calls out after Augustus, who pauses in the centre of a black and white mosaic, intricately woven across the expanse. The man stands out, garbed in dark burgundy. Tilting his head lightly over his shoulder, he calls back to where Plutarch still remains by the bookcase, positioned on the snowy marble.

"I suppose one always has to shoot the messenger."

**Thanks for reading, I'm not too sure about this chapter, but let me know what you think, I really appreciate reviews and value what you guys have to say! We are so close to beginning reapings and I would really like to start them next chapter, I just need a couple more tributes. Thankyou so much if you have already submitted or reviewed or favourited/followed as always. I hope you are enjoying it so far!**

**The Tribute List:**

**D1 Male: Gleam Leventhorne (18) Submitted by Kanra Chrome**

**D1 Female: Lexa Emmeline Merkell (18) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**

**D2 Male: Aiden Faust (18) Submitted by grab. . **

**D2 Female: Jade Rainer (17) Submitted by ashleyashley**

**D3 Male: Dutch Morgan (13) Submitted by Heslen**

**D3 Female: Alice Day (13) Submitted by Rayofsunshine14**

**D4 Male: Kainalu Porbeagle (17) Submitted by A M4D TE4 P4RTY**

**D4 Female: Amoret Rossdale (17) Submitted by carriedaway88**

**D5 Male: Lucas Holmes (12) Submitted by grab. . **

**D5 Female: Sola Finlun (14) Submitted by RAINBOWSNEMESIS**

**D6 Male:**

**D6 Female: Merinda Lux (17) Submitted by Heslen**

**D7 Male: Reserved for SkellyBelly**

**D7 Female: Katy Jo Cheming (17) Submitted by Nona**

**D8 Male: Challis Veloura (18) Submitted by submitter101**

**D8 Female: Payton Wells (12) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D9 Male: Maximus "Max" Wood (18) Submitted by ZTEBladeCM11**

**D9 Female: Isla Waral (15) Submitted by 17headlines**

**D10 Male: Kyle Horne (16) Submitted by Wandering Princess**

**D10 Female: Clarissa Brown (17) Submitted by Wandering princess**

**D11 Male:**

**D11 Female: Adria Braud (15) Submitted by TheDancerSG**

**D12 Male: Tucker 'Tuck' Wellington (14) Submitted by Kanra Chrome**

**D12 Female: Winze Barcroft (16) Submitted by GlimmerIcewood**


	8. Losing Count

**I really want to apologize for the ridiculously late update. I've been overwhelmed by coursework and that in tandem with a re assessment of my life in general means that I've really neglected this story. I'm truly grateful for everyone that supports this piece and thank you for all of you reminded me to update. I know this isn't the usual chapter but I hope you enjoy it. I now have all the tributes so when I have more free time (which may not be soon) I can begin writing the reapings. Again, thank you for all of you that have contributed in anyway, I love you all for that. Enjoy.**

I opened my eyes and there was only black and air… the feel of wood against my sore fingers. Have my limbs turned to wood too? I was slowly growing into this box, slowly leaving what was left of this broken girl. Panic woke me lazily, planted in my stomach it bred and bred, until I could feel its roots weaving through every cell. I was still here, still tied to this withered body. My fingers are moving again and I'm using my fear to oil the joints. My lungs push air in and out aggressively, and now her body- my body is wracked with pain, old scars and fresh bruises litter my skin.

I kick and kick and kick against the wood- for at least ten minutes I know nothing else but the endless slamming of my limbs against this coffin. This literal coffin. Then a fragment of light, shattered like frozen lightning against the black. I stop my thrashing legs, and the wave of panic passes over me. Now I am really afraid, my body still in the newfound light. I am willing this girl that I am to shrink back into the darkness, willing the lungs to simply stop. I tell them, but they don't know how. I don't know how. Am I awake or is this a dream? I'm buried in this wooden haze, caught like a sunrise between darkness and freedom.

Lifting a hand towards the light, I am remembering my lines and colours, white skin lost beneath crusted red, brown, black. I'm shivering and remembering how it feels to be cold, how it feels to be warm, how it feels to be… alive. I am not aware of anything but this girl, this familiar strangeness…. I'm lost in this murky water.

I edge towards the white lightning, and it hurts my shrunken eyes. It would be so easy to lie back, just for a little while. But just as I can't let myself outside, I also can't let me and this girl sleep this endless dream. I curl these fingers round the splintered wood and I know the dream isn't for us, as I feel a breeze on my hand I know. I breathe the air and I know I'm breathing in death and pain and suffering. I taste the blood in the air, the ash, and the girl reminds me she has seen fire and corpses. I'm so afraid, so afraid. My eyes can't define hope, but I press my needy face against the edges of my hideaway and look.

Burnt. It is all so burnt. Miles of charred wood, charred stones, charred people. I am losing count and starting over, it is too much for me, too much for this girl. I pause for breath and my senses are on fire with so many things I haven't felt in such a long time. The girl feels it too, and she tells me a story about lying in a cave, much like this wooden one we are in now. She lies in the cave and there is a boy lying there too, a boy who is ill and honest and close to her all at once. She knows she has to leave this cave to save him, but she also knows that outside there will also be bodies and fire. The world will be blackened and dead, but she has to.

I know that the boy is still out there, waiting for her to come back. As I know there is so much suffering that I don't yet recognize. It's not over, not for a long while will we get to dream again. I lift my aching body out of my intended tomb and stand shakily on chaos. We stand there, the girl and me, and breathe in all the pain. We keep it inside of us, and swallow it deep down into our heads. We keep it safe for when we need to remember, but now is not the time to be afraid. This time enshrined in my heart is the boy who waits on the other side of that black hill.

The girl is counting every corpse, every stone. She looks at the bruises on my skin, the scars on my face, and washes them in the fire that washed through this place. Tears trickle down my face, and sting the cuts on my lips, on my cheeks, on everything.

A bird flies overhead, cutting through the white, and suddenly my thoughts are cut open like a new wound, but this time it doesn't hurt. The memories are spilling out everywhere, all inside of me. You see this girl is me. Her dreams are mine, and my scars are hers. I turn my gaze to the bird growing small against the skyline. I think my sanity has gone insane. Stepping through the dirt, I follow the line of flight that little bird took. My face is scarred, and my body resists, but I know that boy in the cave is waiting for me. I know where I have to go.

"_The Mockingjay is dead."_

"_Are you certain she has been dealt with?"_

"_Yes, President, Sir."_

Augustus sighs a deep breath of relief. She was dead, _she was dead. _His first priority as President had been to execute the leader of the Rebellion, yet he still felt so shaken. Every time he spoke to a crowd, her face was in every corner, blazing with every intention of revenge. If she was dead, she did a damn good job of haunting. _No, she is gone_, he reminded himself.

He looks out of the crystal windows of a mansion, and sees a bird flying overhead.

He can't help but shudder.

_Gone._


End file.
